Brothers Unarmed
by ashatanii
Summary: The Dunbar boys grew up tough as steel. Their father made sure that happened. But every man takes what he finds at the end of his childhood and makes his own life. How much do Jim and his brother have in common after all this time?
1. Chapter 1

Brothers Unarmed

Bobby Dunbar strode in the double doors of the 8th Precinct. It looked pretty much like every other cop shop he'd been in; people rushing around, some poor jerk being dragged around in cuffs, a couple of old fagots making long-winded complaints at the front desk. Bobby's eye caught a wagging tail as the elevator closed, police dogs too; must have a canine squad. Bobby spotted the weak-looking, bespectacled desk clerk. He smiled, that was better than a tough sergeant. It should be easy to get info out of him.

Officer Johnson looked at the imposing man in front of him. Tall, at least 6'5", heavily muscled and perhaps fifty years old. In a black crew knit, jeans, and a long black leather coat, the man came across like a successful drug dealer.

He was asking for Detective Dunbar. Johnson wondered briefly if he was one of the detective's informants - this guy carried a heavy an attitude and it stank of trouble.

Robert Dunbar stood tall and looked down at the receptionist-playing-cop who, it seemed, had more backbone than he had originally anticipated. "That's right Dunbar, Officer James Dunbar. I'm told he's been assigned here. My name is Robert Dunbar. Tell him he needs to come down and see his brother."

"Just a moment, Sir, that would be Detective Dunbar, I need to see if he is in."

_Detective, Officer, what's the friggin' difference, you're all just cops underneath_, Bobby thought, snorting and rolling his eyes as Johnson picked up the phone and turned his back.

Two floors up, Jim arrived at his desk, took off his glasses and removed his coat. Yesterday, after a call from Marty in the field, Jim had run the DOA's name through BCI. The DOA, Mondeo, was connected to a Mario Andretti. They'd been picked up together for small time drug trafficking a couple of years ago. Jim had given Marty the address so they could pick Andretti up on the way back to the squad. They'd not arrived before Jim had headed home.

Now Marty filled him in on the hell they'd been through looking for the guy. No one answered the door and the neighbors pretended not to know they guy. There was a lot of traffic around the apartment block and finally he'd walked straight past them disguised as a woman. By the time Tom noticed his hairy legs Andretti was far enough away to make a dash and they lost him down some alley.

Suppressing a smile, Jim held his hand up to stop Mary's tirade, and answered the ringing phone on his desk. "Dunbar."

"Sir, I'm looking for Detective Dunbar. A Robert Dunbar, is here to see him, says he is his brother." Johnson wanted to give the Detective the chance to avoid this guy if he wanted to.

Bobby smirked; anyone who _looked_ could see the family resemblance. These cops were all blind.

"Johnson?" Jim asked on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell him I'm not here. Tell him…" Jim said the first thing that came to mind, "I'm on a stakeout. If he leaves a number I'll call him."

"Yes, Sir."

Officer Johnson turned back to the man in front of him, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I'm sorry, Sir, Detective Dunbar is on a stakeout, so we don't know when he'll be back, but if you leave a number he'll call you."

Bobby smiled coldly as he shook his head. He could smell a lie a mile off. "No, no number." He turned and walked out.

…

Marty was grinning, the image of Jim on a stakeout, was hilarious. "So, Jim, did you show Hank the photo of the guy you were staking out?" Marty couldn't contain himself and soon erupted into laughter.

Embarrassed to have been caught in such a barefaced lie, and smarting from Marty's laughter, Jim considered his brother and resisted putting his hands in his face. Instead he sent Marty a nasty look. He called Hank over and gave him a rub behind the ears. "You gonna finish the story of how the guy got away from you and Tom?" he finally asked Marty. But there was no answer. Marty must have left without him noticing.

Jim turned his thoughts to his favorite refuge – the current case. All round bad guy and drug dealer, Alfredo Mondeo had been murdered. The hysterical call from his wife prompted a patrol who confirmed a DOA and then locality ensured the case was assigned to the 8th Homicide squad.

When Marty and Tom had arrived at the scene, they found Alfredo spread eagled, head down on the back stairs of his wife's home. Judging by the grey and pink tinged crater at the back of his head, Alfredo had been shot. But there was no blood around him or the crime scene. There was no weapon nor any shell casings, extra bullet holes or GSR anywhere near the body. There was one still hysterical wife, slugging a bottle of OJ that smelled more like perfume.

Mrs. Alison Mondeo had come home at around 12 o'clock from a month in a rehab clinic where she was overcoming an addition to booze and pills. She said everyone she knew hated her husband but that no one she knew would be stupid enough to shoot him as he was too powerful and mean. She offered no other help. She assured them they could search her house, she didn't own a gun that could have done _that._ Despite the fact that she seemed more upset that he was dead on her doorstep, than he had passed away, neither Marty nor Tom could imagine her killing the man and the hospital confirmed her alibi.

The neighbors heard and saw nothing other than the vacuum cleaner going at 7am. When questioned about this, Mrs. Mondeo waved her cigarette in a wide arc, "I suppose Juanita might have come in. Is it Thursday? I think she comes on a Thursday morning. Or is it Thursday afternoon? Maybe Wednesday is the afternoon and Thursday is the morning?"

Alison was unclear as to the maid's surname and knew only the cell phone and first name of the woman who had been cleaning her house and buying her groceries for two years. Mrs. Mondeo waited around long enough to be interviewed by the detectives from the 8th. She told them how useless her husband was and that she hadn't seen him since their separation two years ago. Some very imaginative curse words were aired while she described his uncaring and thoughtless attack on her mental capacity, showing up dead on her back step. After her high pitched and painfully detailed listings of his faults the detectives were happy to call her a cab. She took herself back to the rehab clinic with a hidden stash of little blue pills and a fresh fifth of gin and OJ.

Tom checked with the neighbor's maid and found Juanita Hernandez was contracted to clean the house for Mrs.Mondeo every second day in the morning.

Marty had called the squad and, as well as giving Marty Andretti's details, Jim organized for a patrol to pick up Miss Hernandez and bring her in.

There was no Andretti to interview as yet, and they were waiting for Miss Hernandez to show.

The TOD was still undetermined. All four detectives were beating the bushes right now, trying to come up with someone who knew something. Jim stroked Hank's head, which rested on his knee, and reached for the phone.

"Jenny, Jim Dunbar. You got me a TOD on Mondeo yet?"

"Hi Detective. Yes, you must be psychic, I was just about to call you. Alfredo Mondeo died between 10pm and 3am on the 24th . And I can also tell you where he was for the couple of days since he died."

"Oh? He wasn't hanging out at his wife's doorstep?"

"No, he was in a swimming pool."

"A swimming pool? But cause of death was gunshot, right?"

"Yes, he was killed and fell, I'd say, into the pool, that's why there was no bruising from a fall to the ground, and the slugs will be in the bottom of a pool somewhere."

"Great, anything else you can tell me?"

"The pool was chlorinated with salt. I can give you the PH levels and things?"

"Fax them over and we'll hang on to them."

"Okay."

"Thanks, Jenny, that was after 10pm on the 24th?" Jim repeated the hard data to set it in his memory.

"You got it."

"Okay, thanks. I'll call if we need to come check him out."

"That'll be fine. See you." Jenny hoped they'd come, any excuse to see her favorite Detective.

As Jim hung up the phone, Karen called down the corridor, "Jim, you ready? Juanita Hernandez is waiting. Tom asked if we could take it, they're trying Andretti again. Interview one."

"Yep," Jim gave Hank a final pat, "Take it easy, pal."

…

Meanwhile, Bobby sauntered away from the cop shop and scoped the front of the building from a distance. Through the wide glass doors he had a clear view of the weak- eyed officer at the desk. When Officer Johnson was occupied, dealing with an irate senior, Bobby looked around for a good cover.

A plain clothed cop was walking up the side walk, his attention glued to his cell phone, where he was having an animate conversation. Bobby stepped up behind him, pulled open his cell phone and made as if they were walking together. As they walked through the precinct doors, Bobby nodded at a uniformed officer who was walking out and continued in with his cop. Together they went straight past Officer Johnson's back and into the elevator. The cop got out at level one, Bobby continued to level two; his little brother would get a visit, whether he wanted it or not.

From the elevator he strode purposefully to a vending machine, chose some candy and slowly fed coins into the slot. When the candy failed to drop, a black man walking by noticed. "Ah, that coil never works properly. Here." He thumped the machine hard and the bar dropped into the pick up tray.

"Thanks. And here I thought I had lost my money." Bobby grinned appreciatively. Now that was a good service. He looked a little closer, suit, tie, gun and gold badge; a detective. Bobby wondered briefly if _Detective Dunbar_ worked with this one.

"Glad to help." The black cop gave him an assessing once over. "You looking for someone?"

Bobby gave him a genuine smile. "I've been told to wait, be available for some detective." He opened his arms in the universal gesture of frustration.

"Alright, well, you should sit there." Tom indicated the bench next to the squad gate.

"Thanks." Bobby took the chocolate bar and dropped it into his pocket, it had already done its job, bought him some time while he waited for Jimmy to arrive, and now it had gotten him an invitation to sit on the bench, well done Baby Ruth. He took the seat vacated by a woman in a cleaner's uniform and sat between a nervous wiry man and a slothful junkie. This would do nicely. He could see everyone going in and out of the elevator, the stairs and the squad room. Jimmy wasn't the only one on stakeout today. Bobby looked around, desks, people, it was pretty normal. That dog he had spotted earlier sat beside a desk. Bobby did a double take. Not a police dog after all - a guide dog. He rolled his eyes and sneered. What was the world coming to? Blacks and women were bad enough, now they had bloody cripples in the police force?

Jim entered the interview room behind Karen and pulled out the chair for the maid. "Please take a seat, Miss Hernandez," he asked politely.

She took the seat he offered and sat clutching her purse, opening and closing the metal clasp. The scent of cheap perfume did little to cover the smell of strong cleaning agents.

Jim sat and listened while Karen started the questioning, "We'd like to ask you about how the body could have gotten to those back stairs."

Smiling gently, Jim pulled his glasses from his face and placed them on the table. Juanita Hernandez looked from Jim's face to Karen who stood behind him at the window.

"I already tole the officer everything I know. I never saw Mr. Mondeo's body and I don't know anything." She raised her voice near the end, as she looked back over to Jim.

Jim tilted his head, frowned slightly as if confused, and asked gently, "But Miss Hernandez, how did you know Mr. Mondeo was the dead man?"

"But…but…" Juanita spluttered. Karen watched the maid's face fall, her mouth opened and closed and tears sprung to her eyes. She hung her head and cried.

Karen grinned behind Jim's back. It was a good shot in the dark, and done so gently. Like a shark delicately biting off a hand.

Jim reached out and touched Miss Hernandez's hand gently. "It's okay, Miss Hernandez. Often the upset of seeing a dead body, someone you know, makes your memory do funny things. Did you see Mr. Mondeo on the front steps as soon as you arrived?"

Juanita looked up at Karen in alarm, had no one told him the body was on the back steps? Karen gave her a warm and encouraging smile. The maid turned back to Detective Dunbar and spoke loudly, correcting him. "No, Sir, he was on the back step, not the front."

Karen turned away so the woman would not see her smile. She loved the way her partner could open up a reluctant witness; disarming them with a gentle voice and a slightly confused manner. The women got all soft and helpful.

"Okay, good. And what time was that?"

"About 7am I think." Still the raised voice and no sign from Jim that it annoyed him, although Karen had heard him tell people he wasn't deaf often enough to hear the words in his voice in her head right now. He'd never put up with it from a fellow cop, or anyone he wasn't playing for information.

"And what time did you arrive at the house?"

"At 6am."

"Did you come in the front or the back?"

"From the back. Mrs.Mondeo is very strict about that."

"Did you see the body when you came in?"

"No."

"So it must have been put there after you started?"

Jim waited. The woman fiddled with her purse, clicking the clasp open and closed. Her feet moved under the table and she turned back to Karen, as if trying to avoid Jim. Karen directed her straight back. "Answer the Detective's question please, Miss Hernandez."

Juanita shot a fearful glance at Jim. Then she looked back down at the table. "I guess."

"But you heard nothing?"

Juanita's lip trembled. She kept her gaze on her hands and shook her head.

"Miss Hernandez?" Jim asked in his oh-so-gentle voice with an oh-so-gentle smile and a little confused frown. Karen's lips twitched and she cleared her throat.

"No." The woman whispered, finally looking up into Jim's face with tears in her own eyes.

Karen sat down next to her, "Juanita, we need to find out who killed Mr.Mondeo. Now you didn't do it did you?'

Juanita looked very scared, "Me, no. I didn't do it. I don't know who did it." She looked to Jim as if he would save her from the accusation.

He shook his head sadly; moving smoothly from good-cop to sincere-but-hard-nosed cop. "Juanita, we'd like to believe you, but so far you arrived at the house when there was no dead Mr. Mondeo. And then you were at the house after there was one dead Mr. Mondeo, so you must think very hard about who else was there." Jim gave her a patient and kindly smile.

"What can I tell you?" she pleaded with him. "I didn't see anyone bring him there?"

"What was unusual? Was there anything else different in her yard?" Jim spread his hands on the table as he spoke, "Maybe just describe everything and we'll see what you know."

"It was wet. There was a trail of wet on the path from the side gate."

"Where does the side gate lead?"

"To the alley way."

"And what cars were parked in the alley way?"

"The usual; the neighbors, the gardening van from Jim's Mowing and the pool guy. Just the usual."

"Tell us about the pool guy."

"Well, I've never seen him. His van is always there on a Thursday morning. He does the neighbor's pool I think."

"Can you describe the van please?'

Karen opened her note book and picked up her pen.

"White with a picture of a seal on the side and Bocelli Pool Cleaning in big blue letters."

Jim and Karen persisted for another twenty minutes or so. There wasn't anything else that looked promising. They let Juanita Hernandez leave, in tears and agreeing to remain available if they found more questions. It was amazing how much people knew, they just didn't realize they knew it until you pulled it out of them piece by piece.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Brothers Unarmed continued

"You want coffee?" Jim offered Karen as they left the interview room.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll go fill the boss in."

Jim nodded his agreement and headed to the locker room for aspirin and coffee.

…

Bobby thumbed through a paper someone had left on the bench and watched the foot traffic go by. This place was jumping, as if something big was going down. A tall man came rushing in, talking on the phone and sending people running; must be the boss. A uniformed officer took a scantily dressed woman by the arm and marched her out toward the elevator. Bobby dragged his eyes away from the prostitute's ass and caught sight of a blonde head going past in the crowd. Bobby stood, towering over the people in between; yep, there he was, not on stakeout at all, just avoiding his brother as usual. And the little shit hadn't even recognized him. Jimmy always thought he was too good for his family. Well he wasn't.

Bobby waited for his chance, followed another man in, past the gates with the big stop sign in it and down the corridor after Jim, nodding at the black detective as he passed. The cop peeled off to the right and Bobby continued after Jimmy.

Jim entered an open door at the end and Bobby slowed, it would be better if there weren't a lot of people around for this. The room appeared empty, so he stepped in.

Jim stood at a locker near the window. He had a bottle of water in one hand and threw pills down his throat with the other.

"Jimmy, aren't you happy to see your big brother?"

Startled, Jim looked up, then turned away and walked to the window. "Not now, Bobby, I don't have time."

"Won't take a minute."

"No." Jim stayed at the window, back turned toward his elder sibling. "Go."

"You little shit!" Bobby closed the space between them in a moment and grabbed Jim by the arm, turning him as easily as a man turns a child. "Damn it, you look at me when I talk to you."

But Jim kept his face averted. "I've nothing to say to you." Jim shook his arm free, pushed past the bigger man, and headed for the door. Bobby followed, grabbed his arm again, and spun him around. Tension radiating out of them like heat from a gasoline fire, the two men stood toe to toe.

Bobby Dunbar stood between Jim and the door as he had so many times when they were children. But Jim wasn't going to be intimidated now; he refused to raise his face or his voice. He spoke with the authority of adulthood, "Get out of my way."

Bobby reacted immediately, his fist formed as his hand came around and through. Hearing the tell tale signs of Bobby's temper flaring, Jim's instincts kicked in and he ducked and began to step back. It wasn't enough and the blow glanced off the side of his head. He swayed and fell backward, landing heavily on the floor, skidded a couple of feet and lost his orientation. His breath came in angry snatches as he fought to control his own emotions.

Bobby watched his brother take a hit that he had never thought would connect. Jim had always been the quicker of the two. The punches Bobby had landed had never been easy. In fact, he'd not landed a first one on Jimmy since his little brother was about six. "Jimmy?"

"Get out." Jim's words were acidic, rising in volume as he got to his feet and stepped back, seeking the wall, a locker, anything to confirm where he stood. His hand banged into something with too much force, he cursed under his breath, paper cups fell, popping sounds littered the floor. Jim kept his head down, eyes toward the floor.

Bobby's face creased in confusion, Jim seemed disoriented, reaching out to the air as if he expected something to be there. He seemed to stagger and sway, like a boxer after too many hits. Questions rose in Bobby's mind, what was wrong with Jimmy? Bobby stepped forward to help, "Jimmy, here …"

Jim shook off his brother's arm. Hhis voice was low and barely controlled, "Get - out - of - here." But Bobby had him now, hung on to his arm and wouldn't let go.

"Jimmy, what's wrong? I didn't hit you _that_ hard. Come on, I just need to tell you something. Then I'll go."

Still breathing heavily, Jim stepped back, bumped the coffee machine again. He heard the coffee sloshing in the pot and turned to it, away from Bobby, grateful to have finally verified his position in the familiar room.

"Then tell, and _go_." His head down, he stood waiting.

"Jim, this is hard for me…Jim, look at me!" Bobby stepped back in close and took Jim's chin in his hand, as if Jimmy were a stubborn five-year-old. He brought the younger man's head up and held it. "God damn it – ten years and you still won't lay eyes on me?"

Bobby looked directly into his brother's blue eyes, long seconds passed. His hand dropped away. He took a step back. "Jimmy, what's going on?" Bobby looked away and then at his brother's face again. He took another step away. "Wh…"

Karen stuck her head in the door, "Boss wants everyone one in his office – right away."

She read the tension in the room, "Everything alright in here- ?"

Jim cut her off, "Fine, Detective, I'll be right in."

Karen frowned, _Detective?_ _O-kay?_ She stepped back tentatively and walked slowly away, keeping her ear on the men in the room behind her.

A moment later, the big man who had been in the room with Jim, stormed down the corridor; brushing past her rudely.

She went straight back to the locker room. "Jim, you okay?"

"Yeah, it's finished." Jim tried the smile on her but it wasn't strong. "Let's go." He put his hand on her back and prodded her toward the door. "Do you know what the Boss wants?" Jim asked, as much to shift her attention from Bobby as to find out, as they walked down the hall.

"No, he just said he wanted us all."

A short time later Bobby watched as his little brother exited the cop shop between the German Sheppard and the woman who had interrupted them earlier. Jimmy put the dog in the back and took the passenger seat. Bobby had never known Jimmy to trust anyone else to drive – ever. That, as much as anything, said it. _Jimmy was a crip;_ dark glasses, hanging onto the back of a dog just to walk down the street. Robert Dunbar couldn't reconcile this, his brother, the best of the Dunbars, the big hero cop, blind?

Karen kept her voice neutral. "Will you tell me what I saw in the locker room?"

"Nothing. Just… look, he's my brother, we don't talk. I haven't seen him for ten, eleven years maybe and I'm not going to start now." Jim rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

"Why don't you talk?"

"Bobby is a Neo Nazi, Karen. I think that's enough reason."

"Shit."

They drove in silence for a while. As they pulled up outside the suspect's building and Karen opened her door, Jim reached out with a hand to her arm. "Karen. My brother - he can be dangerous. I'd rather he didn't know of anyone who was close to me, so if he does show up again, don't tell him we're partners."

"It's that bad?"

"It's that bad."

A couple of hours later, Karen stalked into the squad favoring her right leg. Bocelli, who had forced her to bang it into the wall during his attempt to avoid being interviewed, was complaining loudly, "I don't wanna talk to you right now. Come on, I didn't do it. Can't you at least take these off? They hurt." He was a greasy haired man, large boned but dumpy, fat over muscle with cheap designer copy clothes and loud gold jewelry.

Jim propelled the man along in front of him with a hand on his cuffs. "Shut up, Bocelli," Jim enforced his order by jerking the suspect's arms higher behind his back and pushed him through the gate.

"Alright, alright. Don't break my arms," the man whined.

"Jim, you fill the boss in?" Karen stepped back and took hold of the man's arm. "I've got Mr. Bocelli here."

Before releasing him back to Karen, Jim brought the man around to face him, nose to nose, "You gonna behave for Detective Bettancourt? Or do I have to walk you?"

"No, you leave me alone. Police brutality, that's what it is. I donno what I don't to deserve this." Then he grunted as Karen repeated Jim's last move and levered the guy's arms up another inch.

"You shouldn't have kicked his dog," she said, and gave the suspect a cold smile before she turned back to Jim, "Interview one."

Jim nodded, sent Hank to his rug by the desk and knocked on Fisk's door.

Bobby sat at the bench, unnoticed in the scuffle.

A few minutes later, Jim and the Lieutenant came out together. They walked straight past Bobby, who watched his brother as he made his way to a room on the side. He could see it now. Jimmy didn't look up at his boss when they spoke, he walked a little funny, trailing his hand along the wall here, a desk there. No wonder he hadn't heard from Jim, this must be why he cut the lines all those years ago.

Bobby's hand rose to his face and he rubbed his bottom lip, thinking. He wasn't sure what to do now. He'd come to tell his brother that he was dying, to reconcile with him before he made a quick ending for himself. None of that wasting away in hospitals for a Dunbar. No, they were made of sterner stuff. But this…? Jim living with this? There had never been a cripple in the Dunbar family. It just wasn't right. What was Jimmy thinking?

The slow ache in Bobby's gut burned hotly. He needed some relief. The tumor was acting up again. He stretched and yawned, then hastily pulled his jacket closed, it was one thing to walk into a police station armed; it was another to stupidly display his weapon. After all, having a brother on the force was only so much protection.

Bobby watched from behind a newspaper as Jim went into the interrogation room with Karen. Their boss entered a small room off the side.

…

Fisk leaned against the window. Bocelli was the pool cleaner who had cleaned up after the murder, and although he looked to weak to have done it, he probably knew who did. Jim and Karen were plucking names from him like feathers from a dead chicken. Karen looked to the mirrored wall and nodded. The Lieutenant noted the last name on a message sticker. Tom and Marty entered the observation room. Fisk handed them the note, "Go get this guy."

Fisk returned to his office, Bettancourt and Dunbar had it under control.

Bobby watched as the men went in and out of the observation room. Finally the coast was clear. He stood, walked over like he owned the place, and stepped inside. It was dark like a theatre, the microphone relayed conversation.

Jim was sitting back. The female cop shot questions at the brawny dope sitting in the chair. Clearly the woman was running the show. After all, what could Jim do now? It's not like he could see the reactions to the questions the woman asked. Mm, but this one was tasty looking. Bobby grinned, Jim and his women, he always managed to get the pretty ones but never the good ones. The ones who would do what they were told, who knew how to be a woman. No, Jim's women were always as hard headed as he was.

In the dark of the observation room, lulled by the repetitive questions, Bobby recalled the girl he and Jimmy had argued over more than a decade ago. She was stunning. A tall brunette with clear skin, wide green eyes and a mouth that men had reason to fight over. The brothers were hustling pool late one night in a dive out in Ridgewood, Queens. Bobby had needed some dough to cover a bet that had gone sideways and pulled Jimmy in to help rake in the money fast. They had fun too. He had fond memories of the easy way they worked the table, real brothers - they hardly needed a word to communicate.

Well on their way to making the last of the money Bobby needed, it was the third pool hall in three nights, and they were on a roll. The guy they were just about to take for more money than either had ever won before, turned out to be a shade more stinking than week-old takeout. As they came up to the last run of the night, and the result was already written in neon for all to see, the loser took Bobby aside. "Look I'm not sure I can cover all this, I mean, I'm in over my head, can't we work something out?"

Bobby had been all for beating the money out of the guy but, with Jimmy in the police force and all, that wasn't going to work. And Jimmy would know if he pretended to let the guy off and went back for him later. Even Bobby knew he couldn't pull the wool over Jimmy's eyes. The guy had stood between the two brothers, the smell of fear wafting around him and his voice shaking a little as he bargained, "Tell you what, I'll give you everything I have, that's about half of what you won, but the rest, how about I give you my girl? I think I can talk her into going home with you two and, well, if you treat her right, she'll stick around."

Jimmy and Bobby sent him away while they discussed it. Jim had noticed the girl. She was the one who had been eyeing him up all night anyhow. It didn't look like the fellow would have to do much convincing. Jimmy shrugged, "You'll get enough cash out of it to cover your debt?"

"With what we got the last two nights, I'll have enough to stake myself again." Bobby agreed.

"Alright, but she chooses who she goes with alright? We don't argue about it and we don't share."

Jim pointed his finger at Bobby, which he wouldn't usually stand for, but he needed Jimmy to finish the game off right and it sounded like Jimmy wouldn't be asking for any of the cash this time. So Bobby let the finger pointing go and agreed to the terms.

Jim went to seal the deal. He gave the man a very hard glare, "Good move, bringing this up before you finished the game, but next time, don't bet on the expectation you're going to win. That could get you serious trouble around here."

The weasel had agreed with pathetic gratitude. They'd finished the game, Jimmy ending it with speed and flair, bringing six balls home with a mix of shots that even had Bobby impressed, although he'd never let on. The kid didn't need to grow any bigger or his boots wouldn't fit.

They'd shaken hands, the money had been handed over, and they retired to the bar. Soon enough the girl had come over. She stood between them, at least 5'10", in a dress that left very little to the imagination, legs all the way to her ass, and a mane of auburn hair that every man in the hall wanted to lay in.

"So, I'm Nora. Which one of you gets to buy me a drink first?" she asked, twirling her hair around her finger.

Jimmy smiled and called the bartender over. "You'll only be seeing one of us sweetheart and you get to choose. How's that?"

"Oh," she said and Bobby could have sworn she was disappointed. "Well, I don't know…"

As expected, Nora left on Jimmy's arm that night. What started as a one night deal worked out to be a little more. Jim found himself introducing Nora over and over again. When his friends asked where he had found the Amazon beauty, he'd look to her and she'd answer for him: "He won me in a pool game." It was a good time for Jimmy, he was moving swiftly up the ranks in the force and after a few false starts, he'd finally found a girl who knew her mind as well as he knew his, and who wouldn't compromise on what she wanted out of life.

From Bobby's point of view, things weren't too good. He had a run of bad luck with the horses and now that Nora was around, getting Jimmy to a pool hall to make good was harder. This particular Tuesday night, Bobby, Jimmy, and Nora had hit a pool hall in the Upper East Side. They had started a pretty good run and were looking to win large when Jimmy's damn beeper went off. Nothing Bobby said could convince Jim to ignore a call from his boss and off he went, leaving Bobby to win his game himself and see Nora home. He won. Bobby might not have that magic eye that Jim had but he could win a pool game. But Bobby felt he would have won more cash if Jimmy had stuck around like he should have. So, while dropping Nora off, he put the moves on her; and was pleasantly surprised when she didn't resist at all.

The next few weeks were a game of cat and mouse. Nora played both brothers, keeping Jim in the dark about Bobby and laughing with Bobby over cuckolding Jimmy. Of course it couldn't last this way and when Jimmy became suspicious he trailed Nora to a tryst with Bobby. The younger man called it off with the girl and avoided his brother for several weeks.

Bobby finally cornered him on the street when Jimmy stepped out of the cop shop. "Come on Jimmy, it's just a girl, don't go making something out of nothing."

Jimmy shook his head; his brother really didn't get it. "It's fine, I'm fine. I'm just busy that's all." Jimmy worked hard to avoid a confrontation. Somehow, with Bobby, he never seemed to come out on top. Things would be better if he just left it alone and cooled down. But Bobby wouldn't let it go.

"Jimmy, wait up." Bobby moved swiftly to catch up with Jim.

"You're not embarrassed to be seen with me in uniform?" Jim asked with a sneer.

"Hey, you don't get smart mouthed with me." Bobby jumped to the offensive. "That blue uniform isn't going stop me giving you a hiding if you're going talk like that."

"How far do you think you'll get Bobby, beating me up in front of a police station?" Jim gestured behind him, smiling coldly. "You'd probably end up spending the night in there even if I did explain you're my big brother and _allowed_ to assault me."

Bobby gave him a cold, cold smile and turned away. "Watch your back, little brother."

Jim shrugged it off, Bobby was always making threats. And he hadn't really hurt Jim for a long time. Not since that dislocated shoulder a couple of years ago, for some imagined slight. Jim had been working hard in the gym. He was getting pretty good, and had been on a winning streak in his boxing tournament for months. Hell, he could probably bring his brother down a couple of notches. So Jim went back to his tiny one bedroom apartment, showered, and changed. He met up with a couple of guys from his squad at a favorite drinking hole, without giving Robert Dunbar another thought.

In the bar, Jim and Al told the story of how they'd had to run down a suspect for a couple of fat detectives that day, to an audience of wide eyes rookies. They'd been assigned as back up for two hot shot first grades from vice who had finally tracked down a pimp they'd been after for months. Al had joined the detectives at the front door but something had slowed Jim. He'd loitered near the car and then, going with his gut, he'd taken a look around the back. A black man, complete with sweat suit and gold chains, was shimmying out a bathroom window. After alerting his partner on the radio, Jim started up after the guy. Despite at least six inches advantage for the pimp, all of them leg, Jim had caught him and brought him down. The scuffle to cuff him had been impressive, and Jim had appreciated the way the detectives and Al stood there, watching, as if he were in the ring with this guy. As the night went on, the story got wilder with each telling; Al added some great flourishes, and dialogue with the black dude begging and pleading, and the beer and laughter flowed. At the end of the night Jim walked a little way with Al and then headed to the subway.

In the train on the way home, Jim relaxed. The train was dark, the lights were malfunctioning. He stretched out with a smile on his face and rested his eyes. Bam! His head banged on the seat and then the floor as Bobby grabbed his legs and pulled them out from under the seat. "What the fuck?"

"I told you not to sass me, Jimmy-boy. And I _am_ allowed to beat you whenever you get too big for your boots. After tonight you will never forget that again." Bobby's voice shook with malice. Jim was on his feet and the adrenaline pumped. He didn't feel afraid. His first punch connected, and his second, then Bobby got one in, it was low, the wind rushed out of Jimmy so hard it felt like it came out his ears. Jimmy barely felt the next blows as Bobby systematically laid them down where they would show the least, hurt the most and do only superficial damage. This was his little brother after all; he was just teaching him a lesson, not disabling him for life. Jim never let up, throwing punches whenever he saw an opening, but Bobby was over six inches and fifty pounds of muscle heavier. He had the psychological advantage of almost two decades of sibling abuse and no moral resistance to his actions. Finally, when Jimmy had stopped fighting back and couldn't raise his head, Bobby looked down with satisfaction.

Jimmy lay in his own spittle and blood on the floor of the dark and rocking train. He managed a question. "Why'd you take Nora? Why?"

"Oh, Jimmy, I didn't realize she meant something to you." Bobby sounded calm, almost concerned. "Is she why you were sassing me?"

But Jim just closed his eyes, he didn't answer and Bobby assumed he'd passed out for a while. He stayed with the kid, to make sure no one took advantage of him.

While he waited, he lit a cigarette and thought about that girl who had managed to get in between two Dunbar boys. _Trouble_, their dad would have said, and he'd have been right. Bobby wished Jim had never talked him into taking the girl instead of beating the guy.

He considered what he could do, to make it alright between him and Jimmy, to make sure it couldn't happen again. He stubbed out his cigarette on the seat, nodding, next time they fcked, he'd get rid of her. Then he'd have to be scarce for a while so it never got back to him. He thought of that contact of his who had just got out of the joint and was offering him a piece of a racket in Vegas, maybe he'd take that up.

Vegas was over run with fuzz, but having a little brother on that side of the fence had to count for something. He looked down and smoothed the hair away from Jimmy's face. No bruising on his face, that's was good, he'd never want a Dunbar to look bad. Jimmy still owed him a few favors and could probably pull some strings for him if the men in blue got too close in Vegas. Yep, that's where he'd go, just as soon as he'd taken care of that bitch.

The train arrived at Jimmy's stop and Bobby lifted him to his feet, made sure he made it to his apartment door. "Stupid bitch, don't you worry about her anymore. She's outta my life too, Jimmy. Too goddamn big for her boots. Trying to get between brothers like that."

He didn't see Jimmy's uncomprehending stare.

The next day Jim's buddies ragged him about being so stiff and sore after such a little chase and he smiled and took it. Bobby had disappeared, which wasn't unusual. Life went on.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby brought his attention back to the interrogation room. That beautiful piece of Puerto Rican ass came to lean up against the window and his brother finally lifted himself out of his chair. Jimmy trailed a hand around the edge of the table until his foot bumped the leg of the chair the grease ball occupied. Bobby looked away, disgusted.

He certainly had no idea that his little brother had been in trouble. He wondered briefly why Jim had never called him, and what kind of trouble had brought this on. The thought of Jim sick in a hospital, the world darkening around him a little every day, made him shudder. How could a Dunbar live with that? How could Jimmy imagine he could operate in the world like this?

But here he was, still badged, and taking part in police business. Bobby scratched his head and kept his eyes on the scene in front of him.

Subtly, things were changing in the room. Jim pushed off from the desk where he had been leaning into the guy's face. He paced the room, turned swiftly, and came up very close. Bobby had to admit, in those dark glasses and crisp dark blue shirt, Jim looked pretty intimidating. The guy was definitely cracking, spluttering that he didn't know, he didn't know. And Jim just held it, face right up against the dweeb in the chair, keeping the pressure on. "Tell me now, or I'll charge you for the murder and lock you away forever."

"Alright it was Fellini. Fellini who called me and told me to come clean up, that he'd… that he'd tossed some rubbish and I needed to clean it up for him." The dweeb looked up imploringly at Jim. "If he found out I tole you, he's gonna kill me too." The man started to sob and dropped his face into his hands.

Jim pulled his glasses off, placed them on the table. "Look at me." The guy continued to sob and Jim repeated himself, his voice sharper, "Look at me." The guy looked up, into Jim's eyes, trembling. "I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth." The guy sniffed loudly but kept his eyes glued to Jim's.

"Did you _see _him shoot Mondeo?" Jim asked quietly, and Bobby had to strain to hear his words.

The guy shook his head.

"No," the woman supplied.

"And he said he _tossed _him?" Jim prodded gently.

"Yes." The creep was almost eager to talk now. "He said the guy had cheated them and was rubbish, I was to come and clean up right away."

"Who's them?" Jim asked in a soft voice and Bobby grinned, it was almost as if Jim had the guy mesmerized. Bocelli just stared into Jim's face and answered the questions.

"Fellini and his partner."

"And his partner is…" Jim left the sentence unfinished and Bobby almost cheered himself as Bocelli finished it for him in whisper.

"Andretti, Mario Andretti."

"Good, that's good." Jim patted the guy's shoulder. "I'd like to know everything you know about these two, starting with how we can find them, okay, Andy?"

The guy nodded, then caught the raised eyebrow of the girl cop, "Yes."

She tossed a yellow pad on the desk. "All of it - now."

Jim moved off from the desk, taking his glasses with him, and waited while the grease ball started writing.

Bobby took a good long look at his kid brother as he stood facing the mirror. Certainly a bit older now, thinner in the face, he had creases down his cheeks and a deep frown line had grown between his brows. But his eyes were the same clear blue, and if it wasn't for the fact that they didn't seem to track anything, Bobby would have thought him unchanged. Jim motioned for the woman to come over. She did, he whispered something in her ear. She nodded.

"You write it all, Bocelli. We'll be back." And Jim and the woman left the room.

Bobby stayed where he was, watched the guy writing and crying and writing some more.

A short time later Jim and the luscious brunette were back. A few more questions and she took the dweeb out. He gave her no trouble now, he was broken. Jim sat down at the table, his hand under his chin in a mannerism Bobby remembered well from their childhood. Jim was thinking. This was Bobby's chance.

Bobby stepped out of the observation room and into the interview room. Jim looked up "Yes?"

He closed the door behind him with a loud click. "Jimmy, about before; I… I flew off the handle."

Jim stood abruptly, stepped back and brought the chair and the table between them. "Alright, so what do you want?"

"Before, I just wanted to say goodbye. I'm going away."

"Alright you've said it." The sound of Jim's own heartbeat reverberated in his ears. Bobby stood between him and the door.

"Jimmy, when did this happen?" Before the upset, before the girl, he and Jimmy had been friends. He didn't like the way Jimmy was keeping the distance now. "Why didn't you tell me?" Bobby took a step forward.

Jim felt the wall at his back, he sneered, shook his head in dismissal of the idea. "Why would I? We hadn't spoken in years. I never expected to speak to you again; you think I'd just call you and say, oh by the way I got shot. I'm blind now, one of those cripples you despise? Taking up a job a real man should have? I've heard you rant and rave my whole life. You really think I would call you?" He spat the words out, the only thing he had to throw at the threat before him.

Bobby was conciliatory, "This is different Jimmy, you seem to do fine, making- "

Jim's voice was a rasp against stone, "No, Bobby, it's not different. I'm blind. Face it."

The answering silence was huge. It crowded the room, making it hard to breath. He'd said it. Told his brother he was blind. Now he wasn't sure what was going to come down. Jim's hand made its own way toward his holster, until he remembered it wasn't there. _Great_. Jim tried to ban the knowledge from his face.

"You're not carrying?" Bobby was down on him like an avalanche. He'd opened Jim's jacket and given him a professional pat down before Jim had a chance to move out of the way. Bobby was horrified. Their old man had given each of the Dunbar boys a gun on their tenth birthday, sort of a coming of age gift. From that day forward, it was unthinkable that they would go unarmed.

"No."

"Aw shit, Jimmy." Bobby dropped to a chair, sounding as sad as if he'd just lost his dog.

Jim almost smiled at the ridiculousness. To Bobby, a Dunbar losing his gun was worse than Jimmy losing his sight. But Jim didn't smile, he couldn't afford to let his guard down and it was a distinct disadvantage that he couldn't see the changes in expression on the man's face, couldn't predict whether to cajole or talk straight or meet Robert's words with aggression.

Robert Dunbar was a dangerous man. No more so than to the disabled, the handicapped, the blind. The Bobby Jim grew up with had always been the one to put down the animals his sister had brought home, saying they were diseased, shouldn't be alive. There were rumors too, that Bobby had been the one to kill that crippled kid in the apartment block. No one had asked, but Jim never doubted that Bobby acted to his word, and he despised broken people. When Bobby had done time, it had been for beating up some Hispanic guy who took a job that Bobby had wanted for one of his gang. The guy had walked with a limp the rest of his life, which wasn't more than two years. He died the week Bobby got out of jail. And the word went around.

Jim held his head up, stood his ground. Bobby wasn't stupid. If he decided to put Jim out of his misery, it wouldn't be here, in the squad, surrounded by police. But adrenaline pumped, Jim's muscles were taut, ready. He waited, straining to listen for Bobby's movements through the blood pounding in his ears.

The door opened, "The Lieutenant wants to see you, immediately." Karen held the door open, stepped into the room.

"Bobby, I have to go." Jim stepped around the table and toward the door. He felt the large body in front of him move to the side and then follow him out into the squad room. Jim pointed to his right. "That way. Go."

Ignoring Karen, who followed close behind, Jim headed for the Lieutenant's office. As they neared the door, she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder from behind.

"Um, I lied. I didn't like the way it was shaping up in there." Karen's voice was tight, had she overstepped? "He's gone, by the way, the hulk."

Jim turned to face Karen. "Thanks, you got good timing."

"Karen, Jim, What'd he give you?" the Lieutenant asked.

"Felini's partner is a guy called Mario Andretti. He's another possibility for the shooting." Jim filled the boss in.

"You're sure it's not this one?"

Karen shook her head, "No, he's too weak, if he'd done it, he'd have run away and never come back."

The Lieutenant considered for a moment "Okay, you two go get Andretti. Take a couple of officers with you."

Jim turned to Karen. "We better get moving."

They grabbed their coats, Jim called Hank and they all headed out together.

In the car, Karen broached the subject of Jim's brother again. "It's about a half hour trip Jim. I need you to fill me in. What's your brother likely to do?"

"What do you mean?" Jim kept his voice neutral, his head turned to the side window.

"Jim, don't mess with me here. This guy walks into a police station, no one sees him enter an interview room. He's packing heavy artillery and quite frankly, I don't think anyone else would have picked it up, but I know you now, you looked almost scared in there."

"Of Bobby? No, he's my brother."

"And the bruise that starting to show on your head? He hit you this morning in the locker room didn't he? Don't even bother telling me you walked into something."

Jim's hand ran along his hairline, yes, there was a lump and some tenderness. He brought his hand down, his teeth worried at his knuckle. "What do you propose, Karen, I arrest my brother for assaulting a police officer?" he said quietly.

"Just answer the question. What's he going to do?"

"I don't know… I honestly don't know. Let's get Andretti sorted and then I can think about this, okay?"

Karen nodded, then reached over and squeezed his arm. "Okay." She watched him from the corner of her eye. He was definitely under fire. She just wanted him to know he wasn't alone, that she had his back as he'd had hers so many times already.

Andretti tried to make a run for it, but the two uniformed police earned their paychecks and grabbed him before he was half a block away. Returning to the squad, Jim told them to stash him in interview one and headed to his desk.

Karen walked past. "In case you are wondering, the hulk is nowhere to be seen."

Fisk moved between the two observation rooms. Tom and Marty had the first suspect the pool cleaner had given up- Fellini- and Jim and Karen had the second -Andretti.

"And so, where were you after 10PM on the 24th?"Tom asked Fellini.

"I was in Hell."

"Hell?" Marty asked acerbically.

"Nightclub in Greenwich." Tom explained.

"Okay, and anyone see you there?"

"Sure."

"Names and contacts, we gotta check this out."

"Sure, call Loretta, she was with me all night." Fiorelli wrote down several names and contacts.

Fisk moved to the other observation room where Jim and Karen were at a similar point with Andretti.

When they'd both finished, they met in the centre of the squad.

Jim stated the obvious. "Well, we better get onto the alibis. Chances are one of these two won't stand up.

Marty rolled his eyes and gave Jim a disgusted look but kept this mouth shut.

"Boss, do you think we can hold these creeps while we find our alibi?" Karen asked, glaring at Marty and continuing down the line Jim had indicated.

Fisk nodded "No problem," and turned to Tom and Marty, "And what about you two, where do you want to head?"

"We'll go look for some leverage on Fellini, if we can get a warrant. I'm pretty sure he's got merchandise in his crib." Tom said, looking to Marty who nodded, thankful that Tom was thinking in another direction. Like Dunbar, Marty had been thinking about chasing the alibis.

The phone on the desk rang. "Lieutenant Fisk… alright, call me when you've got her."

"That was Officer Powers, the one we sent to get Andretti's alibi. She's not home, roommate says she'll probably turn up in the morning to get ready for work. Powers is going to check her usual haunts, but there's a few of them."

The Lieutenant turned to Karen, "You and Jim go home, expect an early call. I want her interviewed as soon as possible."

He turned to Marty and Tom as he returned to his office, "Get these two we got into holding cells and get me the paperwork, I'll push the warrant through and I want you over there tonight."

Karen glanced out of the window. "Jim, it's pelting down. You wanna ride?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm going via the gym tonight. But thanks."

"Sorry buddy, I tried," Karen spoke to Hank and was rewarded with a Dunbar smile.

"Night guys."

"Night Karen," Tom and Marty spoke in unison.

Jim changed to sweats in the locker room and hung his suit. Returning to his desk, he put on his coat and slapped his thigh. "Hank."

"You should think about getting Hank a rain coat, Jim. It's going to be a wet winter I hear," Marty said.

"Yeah, I'll look into it. Night guys. Night Boss."

Jim exited the gym, warm from his work out. What had started with wondering if he could get some exercise on a treadmill, had become a regular three times a week workout. He had a weight lifting program that he really enjoyed, and since helping one of the kids with his techniques, Gus had even convinced him to put on gloves and throw a few punches at a bag. It felt good. Different from the Jujitsu he did with the old woman - that was serious self defense. This was more for him, for the sheer joy of running, of working his body and even hitting something solid.

At the end of the block, where the neon light clicked irregularly, Jim and Hank turned right and headed down the stairs to the subway. The rain hadn't let up, but they'd be on the train soon and home within half an hour. Waiting for the train, he checked his watch, good timing, the train pulled in and he got on. "Find a seat, Hank," he said as the doors slid shut and the train pulled away from the platform.

Hank had barely taken a step forward when the deep voice boomed, "Here, why don't you sit here?"

Jim's breath stopped in his throat, his feet stopped, and Hank's claws scratched on the floor as he was pulled up. Through the harness, Jim felt him turn and look up at his master. Bobby's voice blew off any feelings of calm left over from the workout. Shit, how did he forget?


	4. Chapter 4

Jim's heart pounded, the noise of the train was almost drowned out by the blood screaming through his ears. The gravel voice tore at his confidence and the sweat was slick on his palms. The leather of the grip on Hank's harness grew damp.

"It's me, Bobby."

Jim, motioned Hank to the seats on the left, nearest the doors and opposite his elder brother. "I know who it is. What are you doing here?" There was no use trying to avoid this now. He was locked in the train compartment until the doors opened at the next station. "How long have you been following me?"

"Since your tour ended. Pretty good workout, Bub. The old man'd be proud." Bobby sounded relaxed, jovial, not angry or sad.

Jim would follow his lead for now. "So, no night life for you tonight? It seems a strange way to spend your evening, trailing me." Holding his mouth a little open so his breath was quiet, Jimmy listened under his own words. But if anyone else was there, they were silent. He was reminded of how Bobby had taken him by surprise, in the darkened interior of the train those many years ago. Would tonight turn out the same as the last time his brother had met him on a train? Would he be aching with bruises tomorrow, washing grit from heated abrasions, or would someone else be washing his cold body on a slab?

"Look, Jimmy, I'm sorry about earlier today. I just want to talk to you."

"You carrying?"

"Yeah, so what?"

Unbelievably, Jim's tension rose another notch. Bobby was armed. At least last time they had both been armed and Jim had thought he stood a chance. Even then Jim had been beaten to a pulp, despite being armed, despite being so confident, despite being able to see every punch coming.

He took a deep breath and laid it on the line. "Bobby, if you're thinking about putting me outta my misery, then you should do it now, because I for one, do not want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life wondering if my brother is about to shoot me." Jim took off his glasses, folded them into his pocket, and glared in Bobby's direction.

"Shoot you? What the …oh, the blind thing?" Bobby got up while he spoke and began moving around the train cabin with heavy steps. The image of cowboy boots rose in Jim's mind, Bobby had always favored cowboy boots. Jim followed the big man's movements until Bobby finally settled in the seat right next to him.

"Look, I done some growing up in the last few years. I'm no way near as straight as you - and I still don't like gooks, or niggers or crips - but, you're my brother for Christ's sake."

His brother was a true hypocrite, but Jim wasn't about to point that out. In the past, a comment like that would have earned him a _lesson_. He wanted to get out of this undamaged, and he was pretty sure that Bobby wouldn't stop at teaching him a lesson if he started to beat up on him and got to see just how handicapped Jim was. Better to keep him talking.

"So?"

"So, I'm not going to shoot you. You're my brother." When Jim didn't answer right away, Bobby laughed. It looked like Jimmy didn't believe him. "Don't tell me you lost your lie sense too?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Jimmy? We Dunbars, we got this uncanny knack, remember? We can see a lie on anyone – no matter how good an actor they are. I know you didn't lose it. I saw you in that interview. You knew when he was telling the truth and when he was bullshitting to save his ass."

He leaned over, got really close to Jim. "What? You need to get real close to know now? Like you did with that guy today?"

"No, I don't need to get close," Jim answered warily, leaning away but not daring to shove Bobby. He did know what Bobby was talking about but had never talked about it with anyone, he had no idea it was a family trait. "I can… I can hear it, I guess."

Bobby sat back, out of his face. "I am _not_ going to cap you or even lay a hand on you. Am I lying?"

Jim hesitated. Then he played Bobby's words in his head again. _I am not going to cap you or even lay a hand on you. _"No. I believe you."

And Jim did. Just as sometimes when the suspect lied to cover himself, he'd feel it, like a fish fighting at the end of the line. And all he had to do was reel him in carefully, uncover the how and why and the physical evidence, because this was his guy. Or when he'd hear a suspect protest his innocence and know, deep in his gut, that their perp was still out there. It had never failed him. And the fear that his brother was his enemy tonight left him, as fast as that.

Jim gave a half laugh, shook his head. "I just, I thought… you _might_ think you were doing me a favor, like Lucky, you know?"

"You thought I'd put my own brother down like a dog?"

Jim shrugged. Lying to Bobby had never worked either. "So you wanted to tell me something?'

"That can wait. I came looking you up at your old job, they said you'd moved on, made detective. Wow, a Dunbar, a Detective in the New York Police Department. Talk about switching sides. You like it?"

"Yeah, it's… it's what I do."

"You any good?"

"I've been a Detective for well over a decade now. I made first grade a few years ago so yeah, I hope I'm some good."

"You're a Dunbar; if you're not going to be a great crook, you better be a great Detective." Bobby sounded proud.

Despite the years, despite everything, Jim felt warmth from the backhanded compliment. Sibling approval was hardwired and Jim _was_ proud of his career. He checked his watch. His stop was due anytime now. "My station; you want to come up?"

"You got people? Rug rats?"

Jim wasn't sure how to answer.

"I heard you got married?"

"Yeah, she's ah, away, so it's just Hank and me tonight, and you, if you'd like to crash on the couch." The train slowed, Jim and Hank stood.

"You got beer?"

"Yeah, I got beer."

"Okay, you talked me into it."

Bobby leaned down and began ruffling Hank's fur.

Jim put his hand on Bobby's, "When he's in harness, I need him to work. You can play with him when we get home."

"In harness? This thing?"

The jingling of the brassware set Jim's teeth on edge. Maybe inviting Bobby home hadn't been such a good idea. "Yeah."

"So, how's it work?" Bobby's voice was slightly muffled, he was still bent over Hank, ignoring Jim's request to leave him alone.

"Maybe later, Bobby." Jim stood as the train slowed and the brakes screeched. Hank walked him to the door and Bobby followed, silent, watching.

Bobby hung back a little. He could see Jimmy was annoyed he asked about the dog. What was the problem? Maybe the dog was more important than Jim wanted to let on? He watched as Jim followed the dog through the doors and up the platform, holding the grip in his left hand and walking with a steady pace. Could've been just out walking his dog.

Together, the three exited the station; Jim slid his card through the exit turnstile. Bobby jumped the barrier, landing with a thump that caused Hank to sidestep. "Hey, watch it." Jim admonished.

What was the big deal? His little brother had always been a bit touchy, a bit unpredictable. Maybe Jim still worried Bobby was thinking of his as a crip? He stared at Jim's face, looking for a clue. "You thought I was gonna put you outta your misery? Is _that _why you cut the lines?"

"What, originally? No. I only lost my sight a couple of years ago."

A long silence accompanied Bobby's heavy steps.

Jim turned toward his brother, "You staring at me?"

"Yeah, you mind?"

"Well, it feels like being in a fishbowl and unable to stare back. You think you'd like that?"

"Guess not. So what's it like?"

"What? Being blind?"

"Yeah."

Jim sighed, but Bobby would never let a question go. "You'd have made a good detective you know, Bobby."

"No way, all that paperwork. Mind you, I guess you get out of that now, hey? That pretty one your secretary?"

"No, I do my own paperwork." They were at the apartment building, Jim stopped Bobby with a hand to his chest before they entered, "And don't even think about her, she's a full Detective and more outta bounds than anyone."

"You screwing her on the side?"

"No, Bobby, just lay off her." They went inside to the waiting elevator.

"You still haven't told me what it's like. Is it just dark, or can you see some?"

Jim didn't answer immediately. He pressed the button, acutely aware of the Braille notation under his fingertips. In its various disguises, this was a question that inevitably came up, and it still caught him like a barb on a fish hook every time, ever since that first time he was asked by the doctors in emergency. He debated if Bobby would let this one go or if he'd be forced to try to answer this question.

They walked into the apartment. "Beer's in the fridge," Jim said as he bent over to unbuckle Hank, and place the harness in its customary spot in front of the door.

Bobby was fascinated as Jimmy messed around under the dog and the whole contraption slid off. The dog gave itself a big shake and looked up as if to say, _I'm ready for that game now._ "Can I pat him now?"

Jimmy gave him a genuine smile, "I'm sure he'd love that. Hank, say hi to Bobby."

Bobby played rough and tumble with the dog for a while. Jim got beer and settled into the couch, he looked beat.

"So?" Bobby landed next to him and grabbed the bottle Jimmy had left on the table for him. "Are we talking theatre aisles with no flashlight or bottom of the ocean?"

Jim nodded. Alright, if he really wanted to know. "Try this." Nestling his beer between his knees, Jim took his own hands up to his face and pressed the heels of his hands gently into his eyes.

After a moment, Bobby grunted, "Yeah?" and moved his eyes around behind his hands. Splotches of light appeared and disappeared, mostly white but some colors, and patterns like fireworks.

"What can you see?" Jim asked, interrupting his brother's sightseeing.

"I dunno, lights, like fireworks I guess, but it's pretty dark."

"And can you see me, or the room, or your hands?"

"Nothing," Bobby snorted, "Shit, bottom of the ocean, how do you handle this?"

Jim was quiet. Bobby opened his eyes and turned to his kid bother. Jim no longer had his hands up to his eyes. He sat, on the edge of the couch, taking a pull of beer, facing straight ahead, looking tired. Other than blinking a lot, he looked normal. Finally he spoke, quietly, "How do you handle anything you can't change?"

"But…" Bobby searched for words, he didn't sound aggressive, just curious, "…it must be frustrating…difficult."

"It's like your worst nightmare that keeps going when you wake up."

"Why didn't you…" Bobby found the words hard to say, after all it was only a short time ago Jimmy had thought Bobby wanted to do him in.

"Kill myself?" Jim shook his head. Bobby watched as his mouth drew into a thin hard line. "The guy who shot me tried to do that. No way was I going to finish the job for him."

"But…"

Jim turned, anger blazed from his eyes, and it seemed to Bobby that he understood why the man in the interrogation room had felt afraid, Jimmy still had it.

"I thought about it – every day. I was angry - it was a fucking drag, a barrier, and a pain in the ass - but every day I told myself I could still live my life and no fucking bank robber was going to take it from me. I just needed courage. And we Dunbars have never lacked that, have we?" Jim turned to Bobby, inviting any challenge he wanted to bring.

"You kill the guy?"

Jim nodded and swallowed the last of his beer.

"Good." They drank in silence for a while. "You ain't got much of a scar."

"No, they managed to save my looks but not my sight." A note of bitterness entered Jim's voice instead of the humor he was trying for. He searched for a way to change the conversation track, but failed, it had been a very, very long day.

"Oh, Jimmy, if I'd known I would have come around sooner. I should have visited sooner."

Jim heard a dangerous note in Bobby's voice; pity. Unwanted, painful, and disgusting in someone else's voice; dangerous in Bobby's. Jim shook his head, it was definitely time to get off the subject, "No, I wouldn't have been up for it, with rehab and everything, honestly, I'm really only just now back on my feet. Your timing's okay. No more though, I can't stand talking about it. What's your news? You getting married, having a kid, what?"

"Nothing that good, kid." Bobby turned away, fiddled with something on the table.

Jim waited through the pause.

Bobby got up and raided the fridge.

"I had a couple of deals go well, legitimate ones." He called back over his shoulder.

"No?" Jim couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.

"True, Jimmy boy, true. Your brother is a bona-fide businessman with money rolling in like fog offa' the lake." Jim heard a belly laugh start up and soon they were laughing together.

"Enough, enough, at least tell me what I am laughing about," Jim asked, gasping for breath. Bobby had always had one of those infectious laughs.

"Well, I set up a little business to launder some money for a friend. Don't worry, not in your precinct!" Bobby put in as Jim's frown appeared. "Anyhow, the friend's deals never came through so I never had to do anything with it, but the little business – it just took off, making me more dough than I ever made crooked." Bobby sounded amazed. "Who'd 'a thought, Bobby Dunbar, a real life business man?"

"Wow, that's great. So, you still dealing in _illegal_ contraband?" Jim asked directly.

Jim could hear the rustle of clothes, he assumed Bobby was shrugging. "It's not like I'm going to bust you, Bobby."

"Actually I'm clean. Going to stay that way too." Jim was surprised to find he believed him, at least that Bobby intended to stay clean.

"So, what's the reason for the visit? You changing sides, wanna join the force?" Jim wiggled his eyebrows and faked a TV voice.

Bobby took the bait and laughed. "You never know. Hey, I'd know exactly which rocks to look under. You think you can write me a recommendation?"

Jimmy shook his head, refusing to answer. Bobby nudged him on the shoulder laughing.

A long silence, they drank. "It's not like I need a reason for calling in though, Jimmy. You're still my brother right?"

"Sure."

"I guess I just been thinking a little lately. I always felt a little bad for us growing apart. I wanted to make it alright between us before I went."

"Well, it's alright between us."

They sat quietly again, the dark encroaching on the apartment. Bobby jumped when lights came on automatically, knocking his beer over and asking, "Who's there?"

Jim smiled, "Christie set it up, I always forget and if she comes home and it's dark, she hates it. Says it creeps her out to find me sitting here in the dark."

"Doesn't she get that you're always sitting here in the dark, even with the lights on?"

Jim shook his head.

Bobby had wandered over to get more beer. He brought a picture frame back. "Wow, this Christie? She's top shelf. Where is she, Jimmy? You buried her under the floor?"

"In a fifth floor apartment?" Jim held his arms wide. "No, she's on a project for her job. LA. You know." Jim shrugged, hoping he wouldn't have to say anymore, that nothing had leaked onto his face. Christie's female hard assed lawyer had finally convinced him that Christie was serious about ending their marriage. She threatened to clean him out and leave him penniless on the street, with only half his salary to live on if he didn't sign the papers when they came. Jimmy had finally accepted that his wife's silence was never going to end. Funny how, after that, she rang him up to abuse him, when she found he had slept with her lawyer.

"Going to end it?"

"Probably."

"That upset you much?"

"I don't know, Bobby. Times were when I loved her more than breathing. And truthfully, if it wasn't for her, I don't know how I would have gotten through that first year, after the bank. But… she doesn't get this. It's just not the same for us anymore. Chemistry's gone." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "And truth is I can't protect her like a sighted man. I think she'd be better off with someone else." Bobby couldn't argue with that one.

"So you solved any interesting crimes lately?" Bobby asked, wondering if any of his friends might on the list.

Jim looked uncomfortable, "Nothing you'd want to hear about I'm sure."

"So, that guy you had in the room today, what's his story?"

Jim gave in. Bobby would just keep digging away until he was satisfied. Jim gave him a basic run over the case.

"I bet the alibi girl- that Loretta Hay girl- she did it."

Jim shook his head, "Na, shooting him in the face? I can't see it."

"Women shoot guys all the time," Bobby stated. Something clicked in Jimmy's head, he wasn't sure why, but he felt he'd just taken a step closer to solving the case.

They talked a little longer, Bobby more than Jim, giving up theories on how and why the DOA had ended up clogging Fiorelli's swimming pool filter. Finally Jim stood, "I've got an eight o'clock tour. I gotta get some sleep."

Bobby enveloped him in a big, unexpected hug, Jim felt some resistance and, surprising himself, some deep kind of loss, unwanted, not understood and very strange.

Bobby's parting words were like encountering rusty steel wool at the end of a fairly enjoyable beer. "I'm glad we talked, pity about the gun, but I'm impressed, you know, with you still holding down a job and all."

"Thanks, Bobby," Jim kept the grimace from his voice. During the course of the night, several beers, and a bottle of whiskey, Bobby had extracted all kinds of unconnected details of Jim's life. Jim guessed his brother was building a romanticized version of life as a blind cop that Bobby could fit into his idea of acceptable.

"You be here in the morning?" he asked his older brother.

"Sure."

Jim smiled and nodded, and wondered if his elder brother could smell his own lies.

Jim brought a quilt and a pillow for Bobby. He moved Hank's bed into the bedroom and wondered if he would sleep tonight. Exhausted he crawled into bed.


	5. Chapter 5

"Seven-oh-five," the clock under Jim's hand confirmed that he had overslept. Groaning, he put his hand to his head. Why had he agreed to move from beer to whiskey? Jim felt ambivalent about facing his brother this morning. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the room spun lazily as he stood up. He needed aspirin and water and he needed it fast, so he'd be okay by the time he had to navigate the street and the subway. He stepped into the living room - and found himself pitching forward. His right hand stopped his fall with a heavy whack into the hardwood floor, his left hit something that skittered away and then smashed into the steel pole. The sour smell of stale beer rose to his face.

Anger flared. "Bobby? Bobby!" He expected his brother to groan from the couch but - nothing. Was he standing somewhere watching Jim flail around in the discarded quilt? Hank pushed his nose into Jim's face, and whined. Jim reassured his dog that he was okay and then, closing his eyes, he turned his head slowly, listening for the telltale sounds of a breath or creak in the floor. But there was nothing. Jim's forehead wrinkled as he stood. These days all he needed was a moment of quiet and he could locate Christie in the apartment. A stranger should be easier if anything.

But all was silent. "Hank, here. Forward." With Hank pressed to his left leg, he skirted the broken beer bottle and checked the couch. It had been pushed away from the table but was empty. "Bobby?" Jim checked the bathroom. It had been used. The toothpaste tube emptied under his foot and various bottles had been opened and tossed into the sink. But Bobby wasn't there.

Jim stopped - his coat - Bobby had talked about his big leather coat last night and how he had won it in a pool game. "Come, Hank, front door." Jim and Hank skirted the apartment, avoiding the small furniture that had been shoved unthinkingly out of Bobby's way and into Jim's. The coat stand held only Jim's coat. The big leather one was gone. Jim breathed a sigh of relief; he could get on with his day unimpeded.

On the way to make Hank's breakfast, Jim banged his shin painfully on the lower pot drawer that had been left open. What on earth could Bobby have needed from there?

The hangover reasserted its grip as he got Hank his breakfast. The smell threatened Jim's stomach, and he avoided the kitchen after that. The rest of the apartment wasn't much easier. The remains of Bobby's breakfast littered the dining table, the milk that had been left on the kitchen island went flying when Jim went to place the breakfast plate in the sink, and one or two beer bottles must have been perched on the edge of the bench - now they too lay smashed to the floor. That probably meant there were glass bits from the bedroom door to the front door. Jim considered crawling back into bed.

Using the broom to push a path through the clinking glass and sop of beer, he reigned in his anger at the chaos his unthinking brother had left for him. He tried to justify his brother's carelessness. Bobby wouldn't know what it was like for Jim, he'd never lived with a blind person, wouldn't realize how long it would take Jim to find everything and put it back to order. Bobby had always left messes in his wake; at least this one had no bodies, no blood, and no crying mothers.

But when he found Hank's harness dismantled on the couch, Jim stopped trying to delude himself. After twenty minutes of searching, Jim was fuming again. The rigid handle was missing, rending the whole harness useless. Jim faced the fact, even if Bobby had stayed and watched him trip and fall, watched him searching for shards of glass on the floor, or seen the emotional impact of his carelessness, he wouldn't have lifted a finger. Hell he probably would have laughed.

Jim put in a call to Karen but their Loretta Hay hadn't showed as of 7:30 am. He bit his lip and asked her, "Do you think you could pick me up this morning?"

Karen was a little taken aback. "Sure, is Hank alright?"

"Yeah, no, no he's good; I'll explain when I see you."

Karen stepped into the Dunbar apartment and gasped; the place was a mess. She'd never seen it like this. "My God, what happened?"

"Bobby happened," Jim said by way of explanation, and Karen's eyes darted to his face, worried about what she might find. But, other than the lump on his head from yesterday, and a couple of small cuts on his hands, there were no signs of any struggle. "He came over and we had a few drinks. I guess he kept drinking after I went to bed. But, this doesn't matter." Jim swept his hand around, indicating the mess. "He also dismantled Hank's harness and the grip is missing. Without it … I can't…it's useless to me without it." Jim stopped, suddenly wishing he hadn't asked her to come. But there _was_ no other way. "Maybe you can see it. I've searched everywhere." He stood with his hands out, looking embarrassed and frustrated.

"No, no, it's fine, Jim, let me look around." Karen resisted the urge to shift the furniture back to where she knew Jim normally kept it. She knew he'd prefer to put things right himself.

"What an asshole," Karen's voice showed her disgust.

Jim waited, head hanging a little, while she searched through the mess around the front door where he normally kept Hank's gear and looked in the obvious places it might be hiding from Jim.

"Geez, what a pig!" she said again as she stepped over pile of potato chip bags behind the couch where Hank waited. She noticed he was wearing most of the harness. "Where were the bits you have found?"

"Here on the table." Jim used his cane and made his way around a chair and a couple of whiskey bottles. He ran his hand over the table top again.

But it was nowhere around the mess Bobby had slept in either, and Karen stood up, "Is there any way he would've taken it?"

Shaking his head, Jim turned in consternation. "What for? I mean it's a piece of leather and steel."

She watched him struggle with the thought. "No, he's not usually cruel for the joy of it, it'll be here. He's just left it somewhere unthinkingly. Let's check the garbage."

Karen shrugged and followed Jim toward the kitchen. She winced as he banged into the edge of the coffee table. But it wasn't in the garbage.

Jim's shoulders sagged. He checked his watch, "What do we have on today?"

"Hopefully Loretta Hay first off, and then I guess we follow up from there."

Jim nodded. "Okay, I'll make some calls from the car, maybe I can get a replacement couriered out."

But to Karen, he looked worried. Jim was an excellent detective, but he was very dependent on Hank. Even with Karen as a sighted guide, this would seriously impede Jim and weight heavily on his mind. Sabotaging his work like this was criminal. Karen sent a silent curse to his brother.

"Let's go." Jim slapped his thigh and Hank trotted up. Jim took his leash in hand and headed to the door.

Karen twirled, looking over the minefield of broken glass and displaced furniture that Jim would be coming home to - and that's when she spotted it, up on top of the fridge, poking out a little way.

"Jim, look." Karen stepped up and took down the u-shaped metal grip. "It's here, on top of the fridge."

"On the fridge?" Jim held out his hand. His relief was obvious as he curled his fingers around it. He touched the fridge and up, over his head where it had been stashed. "Here?"

"Yeah, probably put it there while raiding the fridge."

"Well, thank goodness we didn't order pizza," Jim joked as he re-attached the grip.

Back at the squad, Karen watched as Jim moved through his arrival routine. As he pulled his cane from the inside pocket of his coat, a sheet of paper fluttered out with it and blew over and under her desk. She stooped to retrieve it. _Take Care. _Two words, big letters. "Ah, Jim, there's a note, fallen out of your pocket, here." She held it out.

Jim turned, uncertain, and then held his hand out.

"It says, _Take Care_, big letters. No signature or anything." She put it in his hand.

Jim nodded, crumpled the note and threw it in his trash can. "Thanks."

"From your brother?"

"I guess." Jim shrugged, owing her some sort of explanation. "Written really big?"

"Yes."

Jim smiled, "He probably thought it'd make it easier for me to read. Like, shouting on a note." He dropped into his chair and opened up his laptop.

"Jim," Karen said, her voice dropping to a serious tone, she wasn't going to take the brush off, "does this mean take care or is it a threat?"

"I have no idea," Jim sighed and shook his head. "He came over last night; we talked. I don't think he'll show up again."

"Okay, but don't hide this, if it's something…you know?" Karen stopped as Marty and Tom turned into the squad. "Morning guys." Karen's phone rang. "Bettancourt… yes, Boss, we're on our way." Karen shut her phone, "Jim, that's the call, our alibi just showed up."

"Good, let's go get her," Jim said, as eager as ever to get on with finding their perp.

A short time later, laughter bubbled under the surface of the squad room; getting such a fast break was unusual and something greatly appreciated in the 8th Precinct. …And the way she spluttered when she realized she'd just contradicted herself?" Marty was having fun, remembering how Loretta Hay, The Alibi Girl, had put on such a show. Trying to justify why she'd been used as an alibi by both suspects. In unraveling the mess, it had turned out she was sleeping with both men and had shot Mondeo when he threatened to tell them. Both Fellini and Andretti had suspected Loretta had killed Mondeo, covering up for her by calling her their own alibi. Both of them had been sleeping with other women on the night in question but were very hurt to discover her two timing, and gave her up.

Faced with the two men accusing her she had fought like a she-devil, threatening to divulge all sorts of details about their illicit sales. The details were enough to put all three away for a long, long, long time.

"That was priceless, Marty. You should be TV cop. Then everyone could enjoy it." Jim grinned to take the bite out of the comment.

"Oh yeah, I can see it now," Tom joined in with a deep announcers voice, "Selway and Russo- True Blue." He held his hands wide as if framing a banner.

"What's this, Selway and Russo?" Marty looked aghast. "Who said anything about Selway?"

"You gotta have him, Marty. You know, for some class, some groove." Jim failed to keep a straight face.

"Groove, huh?" Tom tossed a wadded paper ball at Jim. "You're kidding right?"

Eyes sparkling, Karen joined the fray, "Nah, I think _Bettancourt and Dunbar_ has a better ring to it, and at least we're both eye candy."

"Eye candy?" It was Jim's turn to be shocked, "I thought this was a cop show? You know hard hitting interrogations, perps brought low to sniveling puddles of fear, strong men with guns." He stopped, having prodded himself unintentionally in the still open wound.

Karen noticed and helped smooth over the awkward moment before Marty could get in there and have a poke. Jim hated to be reminded of the loss of his weapon at the best of times, to have done it himself, well, maybe it showed he was getting over it. "Yeah, eye- candy, that's the only reason people really watch these shows," she said.

"Then it's got to be Russo – I'm the one who is tall, dark and handsome. And Selway, you can be in it. " Marty waved his hand toward Tom. "After all, I gotta have a sidekick, right?"

Karen and Jim both laughed into the back of their hands. Tom wondered when they'd merged into clones, their mannerisms were spookily similar right now, and began bowling heavy duty paper balls destined to cause bruises on his partner.

"Anyhow, as I was saying, before my sidekick started beating up on me," Marty's smile widened as he dodged another missile. "It's gotta be Russo and Selway because no one would believe a blind cop – no offense Jim."

Jim just nodded in agreement. What was there to say? He put in his earpiece and started to do his wrap report, distancing himself from their games.

But Karen fought for their team. "No, I think it would be a great show, more drama than action, interrogation scenes, tension in the squad room…"

"Jim sitting thinking for hours on end," Marty butted in.

"A short Italian detective always putting his foot in his mouth," Tom couldn't resist adding. "You could call him Shoeso."

Marty laughed out loud, "A black guy, with a huge afro, chewing gum and talking jive talk no one else can understand…"

Karen put her hand on her hip. "You two done?" Then she straightened, her face fell into nonchalance and she cleared her throat. "Boss," she said under her breath.

They filled Lieutenant Fisk in on the recent turn of events and showed him the woman's confession. "Good job. Who's taking her to central booking?"

Karen glanced at Jim's screen, noting he was near the end, "Ah, we will. We've almost finished our reports," she spoke up, poking her tongue out at Marty behind Fisk's back.

"Excellent." Fisk shut the door to his office, unaware of the byplay behind him.

"Actually, Karen, you got a point. Those shows, they only work when there's a good looking female in them, so you can be part of the ensemble," Marty conceded graciously.

Karen raised her eyes and tossed her head at her partner.

Marty answered her unspoken question, "I'll think about him. I'm not sure he wouldn't be a show killer."

The banter evaporated as they got busy completing paperwork.

Karen got Jim's signatures onto the reports and dropped them on Fisk's desk. Then she returned to her partner who was in his classic thinking pose. "Jim, I kinda promised we'd take Loretta Hay to central booking."

"No problem." Jim packed up and signaled Hank that it was time to go.

Karen called the front desk, and they arranged to bring the woman to her car.

"See you guys," Karen called back as they headed out, then to Jim. "I thought we could stop by that new place we found for lunch."

Jim nodded his agreement. "Good thinking."

After they left Tom leaned over the desk toward Marty, "Come on, he can be in our show."

"I said I'll think about it," Marty glared as if it were a real decision and not a new running joke they'd found to play with.

"You really think I should grow an afro?" Tom ran his hands over his head, turning right then left and it was Marty's turn to start with the paper missiles.

Jim and Karen finished processing Loretta Hay and got back in the car.

"Lunch?" Karen asked, pulling out from the curb.

"Sure." Jim turned from the window to face her. "Eye candy?"

Karen felt the blood rise in her face. "Is that what you been thinking about for the last hour?"

Jim grinned, "I know _you're _pretty, but I never thought of myself that way."

"Well don't go making plans for a modeling career." If Jim could have seen Karen's smile he would have dug deeper.

As it was he made an exaggerated slump down in his seat, pretending embarrassment. "Oops," he said.

Lunch was good; freshest sandwiches in town, great coffee and Karen couldn't walk past the cake offerings without ordering at least two slices. Ostensibly one each for them, but, since she was choosing, really they were both for her, and he was allowed a little - maybe.

"We should tell Tom and Marty about this place. Marty would love that chocolate cake," Jim said as they left the car and headed for the squad room.

"Not unless he includes you in his show." Karen sounded like a protective mother. "We need a blonde to bring in the audience. Mind you, we might have to wait 'til that bruise on your head has gone." She wished the words back as soon as they left her mouth. Jim's expression closed over at the thought of his brother. "Jim, the mess in your apartment, you need a hand with that?"

Jim frowned, shaking his head quickly, "No, not at all. I'll have it ship shape by the end of the night."

"You need someone to check for glass after you do?"

"You think I can't clean a house?" Jim cocked his head, working hard not to be offended.

"No," Karen tried to be patient but sometimes he has as hard headed as a bull. "I'm thinking about Hank. You can wear shoes, what about him? How are you going to know you've found it all?"

Jim's lips went tight, and his expression closed, getting a cleaner in could take a few days and endangering Hank was definitely something he couldn't do. "Fine. If you want to pick me up again tomorrow, you can check."

"Is your brother likely to show up tonight?"

"Nope, and it was ten years between visits last time so…" Jim was confident Bobby was out of his life.


	6. Chapter 6

Ten Days Later

"Jim," Fisk's voice cut through the murmur, as Jim walked back into the squad after taking Hank out.

"Yes, Boss?" Jim turned to face the Lieutenant.

"You up?" When Jim nodded, he continued, "Tribeca Grand Hotel, on Church and Walker. Triple homicide and one assault on her way to hospital. Take it, I'll send Russo and Selway to help you as soon as they're in from lunch." The Lieutenant handed a faxed sheet to Karen.

"I'm good to go." Karen said to her partner.

Jim turned Hank around and they headed back.

"Hold on, Jim, EMS." Karen cautioned. They had stepped out of the elevator and an EMS unit was hurrying a gurney along the corridor toward them.

Jim pressed back against the wall, nudged his partner, "Can you get a look at her?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the door." She made eye contact with the officer standing at the penthouse door and tipped her head toward Jim. The officer nodded. "There's an officer waiting for us there."

Karen followed the EMS unit as they took the unconscious woman into the elevator and down. She took some photographs. "Looks like a drug overdose, coke, maybe, but she's also got some bruising and it's possible she's been raped," the paramedic said.

"Thanks. You taking her to Bellevue?" Karen asked.

…

At the penthouse suite door, Jim introduced himself and had Officer Pennister bring him up to date. "We got called by hotel security - they were alerted by a housemaid. She came in and found two of the DOA's as they are now. Security also found the unconscious woman and the third DOA locked in the bathroom."

"The maid is here?"

"My partner's just escorting her to the staff bathroom, she was pretty upset."

"Alright, make sure she see's no one and waits for us. We'll need to talk to her when we're done here." Jim waited while Pennister called his partner on the radio and relayed the orders. Then he asked, "You were first on the scene after that?"

"Yes."

"Could you describe the woman they just took?" Jim cocked a thumb at the departing ambulance officers.

"Yes, um, she was unconscious, she'd been vomiting and was lying in it on the floor."

"Okay and what does she look like? Height, weight, …"

"Um, okay, about 5'5" slim build , blonde hair, very pale skin and dressed racy, like a hooker I guess. Short leather skirt, she had on a red bra, no panties."

"Hair long or short?"

"Long, long hair, but real blonde, not like out of a bottle you know. I guess if she was a hooker she was at least a classy one."

Karen walked up. "I'm ready, Jim."

"Thanks, call us when the maid get's back okay?" Jim said to the Officer Pennister.

"Sure, Detective." The officer watched Detective Dunbar park the dog just inside the doorway of the suite and take Detective Betancourt's arm.

Inside they pulled on gloves and Jim pulled out a wad of evidence bags. Karen pulled out a camera, took the bags from him and placed them on a clear space on the table by the door. "Want a look through to start with?"

"Sure." He took her arm again.

She looked around as she led him in. "Big suite, open plan, huge round bed in the middle. Mirror on the ceiling but not as tacky as some places. Two L-shaped couches. Nice chocolate brown colors. And phew, there is at least a grand worth of coke lined up on the coffee table here."

"Blade? Snorting tube?"

"Yeah, fancy blade and rolled bill."

"Any blood on the blade?"

"Not that I can see."

"Other drugs?"

"Some packets," she moved them slightly with her gloved finger, "yeah, pills, blue and white."

"Clothes?"

"Yes, lots, skimpy girl things strewn around randomly. Shopping bags too, expensive stores. I'd say they've been on a spree and treated him to a fashion parade."

"Hooker clothes?" 

"Hard to say. They might be too high quality for that. Can't see the guy's stuff yet."

Jim dismissed it. "Let's check out the bathroom where they found the one who's alive," he suggested.

Karen led him around the lounge area to the bathroom. She stopped at the door. "It's a mess, broken bottles on the floor at the door, some blood, I'd say the woman who was locked in here threw a tantrum, threw everything at the door."

"The third body?"

"In the tub." Karen leaned around the corner. "Oriental, by the looks of it, long back hair, small hands."

"Ligature?"

"Not that I can see, in fact, she looks…peaceful. Head back on the edge, a towel under her head.

"Blood in the water?"

Karen touched his arm, asking him to stand still, and stepped carefully into the room. She leaned over the bath and blew some of the bubbles away. "No, water's clear of blood, could be vomit though. No blood around the bath either, although, the tiles and the bath are black, so we'd better ask CSU to give us a definitive answer on that."

"Is there a curtain around the bath?"

"No, glass partition, hand prints, some residue, that sort of thing."

Jim sighed, _what a waste_, "Okay, what else?"

"Let's see, there're bubbles still floating in the bath, as well as a couple of empty bottles of champagne."

"Any drugs in here?" Jim asked.

"No, a bottle of vodka, empty - but no coke residue or anything."

"And the unconscious woman was where?"

"Right in front of you, behind the door, in all the glass."

Jim's brow furrowed as he built a picture in his head and sought his next question.

"We want to know if the two girls were alone in here when the one in the tub died. What about clothing, any men's clothing, condoms or evidence of sexual activity?"

"No clothing at all, the one in the bath is naked, and the one they took away only had her bra and panties on." Karen opened the cabinet doors, nothing unusual.

"Hang on, let me check something." Karen walked carefully onto the granite tiled floor. She looked carefully at some substances on the counter. "Looks like seminal fluid on the counter. They sure had a big night."

"Way to go, I guess." Jim gave Karen a sad smile, "Anything else in here?"

"No, let's check the other DOAs."

Karen led Jim back to the centre of the main room, around the couches and over to the bed.

"A woman and a man, it looks like he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, she's on the floor in front of him." Karen stopped and then continued in a low voice. "Looks like they were engaged in …foreplay when it hit them."

"You're kidding?"

"No, the guy, though, he's laying back on…" Karen stopped. She stepped back, moved Jim back a couple of steps. He could hear her breath catching in her throat.

"What? What is it Karen?" He kept his grip on her left arm and found her right also, turning her to face him. "Karen?"

"Ah, Jim, I'm not sure. No, maybe I'm wrong; I only had a glimpse…" He could feel her turning in his arms to look over her shoulder.

"What?" Jim wavered between impatience and care for her. "Karen, tell me what you're looking at."

"Your brother, Jim, I think it's your brother that came to the squad. I…"

He blinked, pursed his lips and spoke calmly, "ID, look for some ID. Come on, you've seen plenty of dead men, Karen. Snap out of this." He let go of her arm and gave her a little push toward the bed.

She looked for a wallet. "He's not in his clothes, just a robe."

"If this is Bobby, there'll be boots, cowboy boots, somewhere and, ah, a big, black leather coat. And his wallet should be in the coat." Jim waited.

Karen spoke from near the door. "Yeah, a coat and ID."

"Well?"

"Robert Dunbar, 8 August 1961."

Jim nodded. That was Bobby's date of birth.

Karen tore her eyes off her partner's face and looked back at the dead man on the bed. "It's him," her voice was thick with emotion, "Jim, I'm so sorry,"

Jim shook his head. "Don't go to mush on me Karen. I'll deal with my shit in my time, okay?"

Karen nodded. Jim was frowning, maybe looking a little disappointed, but certainly nowhere near upset. "Alright," with a last little shudder she pulled herself together.

Karen described the woman at Bobby's feet, redhead, petite, young, maybe 16 - probably not. Jim frowned. "That's Bobby's style. He never was one to pay attention to the law."

"Where he is, on the bed, any pillows?"

"Ah, yeah."

Jim checked his gloves; "Show me."

Karen stepped her partner up to the body and put his hand on the pillow. He reached under his brother's body and extracted a gun. He held it for a moment, emptied it and snapped it shut again. He remembered Bobby as a child, when Jimmy was about six, and his brother was ten. Bobby was showing him this exact gun. Their Dad had just given it to him for his birthday. The image of the grey steel, the short stubby barrel, was as clear as if he were looking at it today. "_This is my gun, Jimmy, and no one can touch it but me. And even you can't touch it, unless I'm dead and you have to use it to avenge me_." He'd sounded so serious, and Jim had looked up at him with hero-worshipping eyes, "_Okay, Bobby, I won't touch it unless your dead and I have to avenge you_." He hadn't known what avenge meant but he understood the rest. And true to form, he had never touched his brother's gun until this moment.

"_An unarmed Dunbar is a dead Dunbar." _The words his father had used when Jim was given his own gun on his tenth birthday, rang in his head, slurring like his father did when he was drunk.

Karen saw deep currents of emotion briefly in Jimmy's face and then they were gone. His hand was steady as he slipped the weapon into an evidence bag and sealed it, handing it to her to label. The ammunition went into another one, as per regulation, and she labeled that too.

Karen couldn't wait to get out of there. Jim was as thorough as usual. They went over the crime scene for any signs of other people but found nothing.

Jim kept things moving. "Alright, these two look like a simple OD's so far. I suspect our girl in the bath is the same. Let's get these bodies to the ME and see if that fits."

Tom and Marty could be heard coming down the hall, arguing about who had made them late. Jim turned to Karen, touching her arm. "Let's not mention the connection right now. I'll tell the Boss when we're sure."

"If you say so," Karen said as she guided him back to Hank.

Jim nodded and slapped his thigh. Hank moved into position.

"Are you guys finished already?" Marty asked.

"No, can you do the photographs and talk to the maid? We're going to head over to the hospital and see if the girl might come around," Jim answered.

Karen looked up at him. She'd forgotten photos completely and didn't even know there was a maid involved. She picked up her camera from the table and held out the evidence bags to Marty. "You might want these. It's been a drug party."

"See you back at the squad." Tom looked carefully at Karen. She was pale and solemn. Jim looked the same as ever. Jim started down the hallway behind Hank. Tom stepped behind Marty to give the other Detective some room. Then, with a gentle hand on her arm, Tom stopped Karen as she went to follow her partner. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine." She nodded and avoided his gaze. "See you back at the squad."


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue

Another week passes

Bobby's case was closed. Overdose of partying, both him and the women, and no matches from his gun to any outstanding gunshot victims. Jim felt a modicum of relief at that. Jenny had made the connection with the names and been quite sensitive to Jim; explaining that it was probably a good way to go, considering that cancer had metastasized all through his abdominal cavity and was probably quite painful. Jim accepted her condolence and assurance with a sad smile and a hug. He realized that was the news Bobby had come to tell him.

Jimmy found it hard to grieve. Bobby probably gave no thought at all to the women he drew into his little suicide party. Typical Bobby really, always doing for himself and oblivious to the harm and destruction he caused around him. It was pure luck that the younger girl had gotten herself locked in the bathroom away from the main stash of drugs. She recovered in a couple of days and Marty shipped her home to Kansas, taking her oath that she would stay off the drugs and out of the trade. Jim shook his head. Sometimes Marty was as naive as a child. The girl was easy prey for men like Bobby. When the next good looking man with money and an aura of power crooked his little finger, she'd be right back where they had found her.

The phone on Jim's desk rang. Karen watched as Jim answered the phone, "Detective Dunbar. … Okay. Yes, I can come down after four. Yes. I got it."

"That the ME's office?" Karen asked. They were waiting on a report on their latest DOA. A Chinese male found strangled in an alleyway in Little Italy.

Jim looked toward her, "No. Bobby's attorney. Says he has some paperwork for me."

"You need a lift?"

Jim shook his head "No, I'll be fine."

"Where is it?"

"7th Avenue."

"And you want to do the subway at that time? No, let me give you a lift and you can spring for pizza on the way home." Karen pushed the point and Jim hesitated; it was true it would take twice as long to get down there and back, and it had been a long week.

"You don't have a date tonight?"

"I wish! Bumming pizza and a movie off my partner is the best thing I could pull out of a hat tonight."

"So, now it's pizza _and_ a movie?" Jim gave an exaggerated sigh. "Henpecked, I finally manage to get the place to myself for a while and I get invaded."

Karen smiled, "I'll even let you pick the movie."

"Like last time?"

Karen laughed, "Yeah, like last time."

"What happened last time?" Tom couldn't help asking.

"We went to the video store and walked up the isles and you know what?" Jim raised his hands in astonishment. "Every title that sounded good was out? The only ones in were chick flicks."

"Come on, Karen, that's not fair," Tom chided her.

"Tom, since when was _Kill Bill_ a chick flick?"

"Jim, she's got a point there," respect showed in Tom's voice.

The phone rang, and Jim was happy to get out of the conversation. Truth was, he still had trouble getting into a movie he hadn't seen before the shooting, so it didn't make that much difference to him. And unlike Christie, Karen was pretty good at providing an audio description, so really, it was better. And he'd been worried things would get difficult, now that Christie had been away for so long but Karen seemed oblivious and it had been fine so far. Karen thought she was just on assignment in LA and due back any week now. Better that way, less chance for those deep and meaningful talks Karen liked to have. Still, he'd be relieved when she did get a permanent boyfriend. She deserved someone really good. He smiled, Karen was a great partner and after hours, she was like his little sister. Yes, he'd look at it that way.

"Detective, I have the ME's office on line 2 for you."

"Thanks." Jim's hand ran along the edge of the phone and pushed for line two. "Jenny. You ready for us?"

"Yes, Detective Dunbar, we're all done, and I am sure you will be interested to take a look for yourself."

"Alright, we'll be down shortly. And Jenny, it's Jim, okay?"

"Yes, of course, Jim." Jim grinned as he put the phone down. When did he start feeling like an older brother to all the women around him? Jeez, he'd have to change this quick smart.

"Hey, Tom, you got a girlfriend at the moment?" 

"No, I'm between fish right now."

"Fish?"

"Yeah, as in there are plenty more fish in the sea."

Jim sat nodding.

"You going to sit there contemplating the ocean all day, Jim, or are we going to the morgue?" Karen's acerbic tone started a slight blush. Sometimes he swore she could read his mind.

The ME had some very interesting results, the strangulation of the new DOA was done by a single right hand, and fingerprints were embedded in the skin. Careful cooperation between CSU and the ME brought in the best physical evidence they had so far, and it was three o'clock before they had finished. Jim stepped into the Boss's office to bring him up to date.

"Okay, you can finish up the reports on Monday."

That was great, it was three thirty, and he'd have time to make that appointment with Bobby's lawyer.

"I just need to sign the paperwork?" Jim sat stiffly in the deep chair in front of the lawyer's desk. The smell of leather mingled with hint of cigar smoke set Jim's teeth on edge. He imagined sharks circling high above him near the ceiling. A hundred questions battered at his brain, all demanding answers at the same time. Eight hundred thousand dollars? Continuing income? This was clean money?

"Just sign, that's all." The smug lawyer tapped the papers again, eager to finish this business.

Jim refused to respond to the taps, he wasn't a puppy dog whose attention could be directed against his will. "You need to make copies in Braille for me. When can they be ready?"

For the first time since he invited Jim and Karen into his office, the lawyer lost his smarmy superior attitude and sounded a little lost, "I don't know; I've never needed to do that before."

Jim pulled out his wallet from his inside pocket, chose the card with the Brailled artwork, and tossed it onto the table between them. "Use these people. I'll be back in ten days."

Jim stood. He felt the little push Karen gave him when someone wanted to shake hands. Somewhat reluctantly he reached out and shook hands with Bobby's lawyer. He resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants as they left; instead he took Karen's arm and gripped it hard.

In the car, Karen vented her curiosity, "So, why'd you make him go through that rigmarole with the Braille docs? You don't trust me to read it for you? Or you got things to hide?"

"Maybe," Jim raised his eyebrows, but then smiled quickly. "No, I just needed time to think, wanted to delay it without being obvious."

"Why?"

"Karen, _I'm_ not even sure why. Maybe the thought that the money is bad, you know, came from drug dealing or worse, or maybe I just need time to get used to the idea."

"Well, I'd be happy to help if you wanna check on this money. You know, make sure it's not laundered." Karen watched Jim for a clue about how he would take her offer.

"You still in touch with that guy you dated from white collar? Maurice?"

Karen grimaced, that was a painful subject. "Yeah," she admitted reluctantly. "He still calls and asks me out once a month. I still say no."

"I'll do you a deal, you tell him we need his help, I promise you he'll never call you again. If that's what you want?"

Karen jumped at it. "Absolutely," she borrowed one of Jim's favorite words. "He won't be upset though?"

"He won't blame _you_. " Jim smiled and gave her the rundown on the Godfather technique; a technique for thinning out the bees around a uniformed honey he had perfected in the 77th several years ago.

Karen finally managed to catch her breath after laughing so hard she nearly cried. "You really did that?"

"Yep, worked every time. You can ask Anne actually. We did it for her once."

Jim bit his lip. They'd never talked about Anne Donnelly again, and although he doubted Karen would still hold that against him, it was dangerous territory he'd just stepped into.

"I will, I'll ask her. And I'll call Maurice now."

Maurice, on the implied promise of another date, promised to be thorough and discrete.

Five days later Jim had his answer. A package arrived at the squad with his name on it.

"Karen, this from Maurice?" Jim handed her the package that the desk sergeant had given him when he came back from walking Hank.

"Looks like it." She went to open it; he put his hand out and brushed hers.

"Let's not do that here. I'll make pasta if you'll read it for me tonight?"

"Deal," Karen was happy, Jim was getting pretty handy in the kitchen and she was very curious about the package.

"Deal?" Marty asked coming in. "What you two up to now?"

"Just working out our next practical joke. Karen says it's your turn to take a spill."

"Can I join in? I like some of your ideas, Karen," Tom sauntered in.

"Sure, Tom, wait 'til you hear what we got planned."

"Make sure its funny for all of us," Marty tried to turn the joke around but it really didn't work.

Coincidentally, about twenty minutes later, Tom, Karen, and Jim went to get coffee at the same time. Marty watched, tapping his pen, and wondering if he would be able to hear them from the corridor.

"Serve yourself, Karen." Jim turned the heat down on the sauce and wiped his hands on the tea towel tucked into his waist.

"Mm, looks awful, what is it?"

"Awful?" Jim got worried, had he opened the wrong jar again? He leaned over and smelled the air above the pot. "Smells good. If it's not chili bolognaise, then it's something else just as good."

"Just kidding, don't want you thinking you can get anything out of me with just a promise of pasta you know."

Jim smiled. At the island, he cut the fresh bread and pulled out the butter. "Can you butter this stuff?"

"Okay." Karen put her bowl of steaming spaghetti and sauce on the bench and reached around him for a butter knife. Last time he had done it, she'd slid to her ass before she'd realized he'd dropped a pat of butter to the floor. Besides, he was terrible at it, it never made it all the way to the edges.

"Come on, show time," she said around a mouthful, balancing her pasta bowl, the bread plate and the package from Maurice.

"Cover page. Lists the resources he's used to investigate."

"Such as?"

"Banking records from Citibank, company tax returns, credit registers, there's twenty or more."

"Okay, so he's been thorough, next page."

"The next several pages are company tax returns, jeez, this business is making money hand over fist."

"What sort of business is it?"

"A chain of health food and juice stores."

"Bobby was making money from health food and juices?" Jimmy couldn't reconcile this with his brother who drank beer from the age of eight and would puke at the suggestion of eating his vegetables. "What else is in there?"

"There are reports from each of those twenty listed resources, all figures and stamps, nothing interesting. And a summary page at the end."

Jim waited while Karen ate another mouthful and read ahead. Finally, she took a sip of her wine, "Well, he says it's all legit and the business likely has another ten years life at least. There's a guy running it, an accountant called Anthony Dahlia, and Maurice says he's a family man who takes 30 percent of the profits for his salary. Apparently he's happy to keep going under the current arrangements."

"Which are?"

"From what he says, you agree not to interfere with the business."

"That's it? I don't interfere and it keeps going?"

"There's paper work to sign that Maurice has drawn up, but basically that's it."

"So it's all above board?"

"Looks like it."

They finished their dinner in relative quiet. Finally, Jim went to his desk and picked up a large package. He pulled a Braille document from the package and stowed it back in the desk, he handed her the printed one with the signature tabs all through it. "They delivered the will a couple of days ago."

"So you ready to sign?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded quietly. She guided his hand to the signature lines on every page, sealed the envelope and handed it to him before starting the movie and beginning with the crime scene descriptions of Swordfish.

A week or so after the funeral and Jim had pretty much laid to rest all thoughts of Bobby Dunbar. Life hadn't changed much, Bobby's lawyer suggested that he wait until his divorce came through before taking possession of the cash and assets and, after checking with Maurice, he had agreed. Life went on as usual and his attention remained on the job.

Tom noticed Jim a couple of rows back at his locker. He licked his lips and took a step forward.

"Yes, Tom?" Jim asked straightening up and stowing his gym bag.

"Ah, I heard about your brother and I just wanted to say, um, I'm sorry I guess."

"You heard?" Jim frowned deeply. "How?"

"I caught up on the case files over the weekend, and, well, his DMV picture, he looks just like you, maybe a bit heavier, a bit older, but same name, same face…"

Jim nodded.

"Look, I wasn't prying, and it's clear you don't want to talk about it. I shouldn't have said anything."

Jim gave him a rueful grin, "No, don't worry about it, we weren't close, and as you say, it's a squad case file now so no secrets."

"Hell of a way to go, I mean that takes style, three girls and all that partying. Better than rotting with cancer."

Jim shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face, "Yeah, Bobby always was a hedonist."

A little emboldened by Jim's change of attitude, Tom continued, "The ME report showed eight different bullet wounds from different times. What is it with you Dunbar boys? Are you bullet magnets or what?"

"I guess." Jim didn't know what to say. He had collected a few already himself, though only one had left any permanent damage. "Our mother used to say we had nine lives each. I guess Bobby used up eight of them with bullets."

Tom was intrigued at this glimpse into the reserved Dunbar. "And how many bullets have you collected?"

"Six." Jim grinned, "I always have trouble at airports." He tapped his temple and turned it toward Tom.

"What? They still in you?" Tom looked at Jim's head, where the small scar might be hiding a bullet, "Nah! No way? It's still in there?"

Jim nodded, "Helps me think, really." He turned and walked past Tom who stood, mouth hanging open.

Tom hurried to catch up, "No, Jim, come on, level with me. You ain't really still got a bullet in your head have you?"

The End


End file.
